The Color Series
by Lissa Strawberry
Summary: A series of vignettes, based on different colors. LM.
1. Red

The Color Series

Summary: A series of loosely related, loosely chronicled vignettes revolving around Luke and Mara, with each vignette based on a color. Presented here in VERY loose chronological order. Please let me know what you think...

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Wars. I'm just playing in the universe.

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**RED**

If I could laugh, I would. But there's nothing funny in this. I am short—again.

I stare at my last remaining clenched in my sweaty hand. No. There has to be another way. Another way to get me past this point. I sigh.

The bell tinkles over the door as I enter. There is no turning back.

"Buying or selling today?" the Toydarian says as I enter.

"Depends," I reply with my best smile.

He looks me over. I have to resist the urge to pop that bulbous nose.

"You could sell, bring in lotsa money," he says. "Whatsa your name, lady?"

"Celine," I reply. "In advance. You provide the room, I'll give you 10."

"Twenty," he says.

"Fifteen."

"Done."

The Toydarian tosses me a key. I'm so angry with myself that I don't bother with anything as trivial as a thank you. I hoist my satchel over my shoulder and make my way through the crowded hall and to my room.

Once I'm there, I know I can't stay. I may be beautiful, but that does have limits. This place is a pit.

I'm going to stay for just one night. Just one. Just enough to get some undisturbed sleep. And then I'll leave—the back way. The Toydarian can keep his filthy room. I won't make it any filthier than it already is.

Looking unhappily at the soiled bed, I decide that even if I _did_ do any business, any mess made wouldn't be noticed.

And I can't sleep. I find myself staring at the wall, listening to the screams and laughter of other guests, watching the flashing red light coming through my window. After a while, I can't take that flashing red anymore. I get up and look out the window—it's the sign of a bar across the street.

And there's the Toydarian, chatting up some blond guy.  
I don't like where this is going. Sure, I need credits, but suddenly—I can't breathe. Have I really lowered myself to this? What would my master say?

I grab my satchel. I can hear footsteps on the landing. I won't make it out the window fast enough. Sucking in a deep breath, and praying to the Force for small favors, I slide under the bed.

The door opens, and I see a pair of well-worn dark boots step into the room. I can hear the Toydarian.

"...'s empty, mistah...las' room left...yes sir, 's empty...hmmm..."

The boots walk around the room and stop by the bed.

My hidden hold-out blaster is already in my hand. I don't want to make a scene; it's been hard enough making it on my own without having Isard or whoever the new warlord this week come down on me.

"This'll be fine, thank you," a soft, male, human voice answers.

I hear the unmistakable sound of credits changing hands. And now, I can't help but smile to myself. Sure, I might be crouched in a very undignified position in a very filthy place, but I might be able to get both a nap and some credits.

Actually, no on the nap. It's really disgusting under here. I'll take this guest's credits and make a run for it.

I turn my head for a moment to tuck in my hold-out blaster—and am unceremoniously yanked out from my hiding place.

I instinctively move to protect myself—too late. This guy's got me pinned. And that just makes me mad.

"Who are you?" he says, with a strangely quiet and soft voice.

I look at my captor and can't help but pause—I have never seen eyes this clear before. They are both innocent and haunted, and they are looking right through me.

"Who are _you_?" I reply, but with--oddly--lessening anger.

"I'm Luke," he answers. He lets me go. "Sorry, is this your room?"

"Was, apparently," I say, looking at him closely. He looks really familiar. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

A slight grimace comes and goes, but he says, "No, I don't think so. I would remember someone as beautiful as you."

And then he blushed red.

When he had pulled me out from under that bed, I thought I was going to kill him. But now...

After an awkward silence, he says, "I covered for you, you know."

"Covered?" I say, a trifle defensively.

"I needed a place to stay tonight," he says, "and he told me that there might be someone in here, but he couldn't remember. Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"I'm broke," I confess. It was that blush—it's got me feeling...silly. And nice. And I am not a nice person.

Or maybe he's being too nice for me to lie to him.

"I made an—an—arrangement—with the owner—but then—"

"Shhh," he says. "I know."

I stare at him for a long moment. This interview is getting stranger by the minute.

"I'm going to get some sleep now," he says, moving away from me and towards the bed. "My credit case is on the dresser—" he gestures toward it "—take what you need. That'll save us the trouble of fighting, I think."

I open my mouth to get angry, but catch the twinkle in his eye. My mouth starts to curve in a smile.

"You can sleep here, if you want," he hurriedly offers. "I won't say anything, if you need to get some rest too..."

Then it dawns on me. "Are you aware of my—um—_arrangement _with the owner?" I ask.

He looks faintly puzzled. "No, why?"

Now I'm confused. "Are you really this naive? You're just going to give a stranger your money?"

"What's your name?" he asks calmly.

I hesitate. "Celine," I reply.

"That's pretty," he says, in a tone that indicates that he knows I'm lying. "See, now we're not strangers anymore. Now go on, Celine. Take what you need. I'm gonna get some sleep."

And blast it all, if this wonderful man doesn't just lay down and actually go to sleep!

I hesitate again. I reach for his credit case. Taking only what I need, I move over to the bed to thank him. He looks at me from under a mop of sandy hair and says, "You can stay, if you'd like."

"I don't think so," I reply. "But thanks...Luke."

"No problem." He reaches out and takes one of my hands in his. "Good luck to you."

Where is my temper? Where is my blaster? He touched me, and I'm not even angry about it.

Instead, I climb in next to him and allow him to put an arm around me.

"I won't let him hurt you," he promises. He moves his arm from around me and reaches behind him; I hear a clasp release. He puts his arm around me again, and in his hand is a lightsaber.

All of my sight goes red as I realize just whose arms are around me.


	2. Green

The Color Series

Summary: A series of loosely related, loosely chronicled vignettes revolving around Luke and Mara, with each vignette based on a color. Presented here in VERY loose chronological order. Please let me know what you think...

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**GREEN**

That's her presence in the Force: fresh, vibrant, verdant. Yes, she has those striking green eyes, but it's her Force presence that tantalizes and exhilarates me.

Green is warm and cool at the same time. On a lazy day on Yavin IV, I would hike through the forest and feel the warmth of the sunlight filtered through the thick green leaves. I would rest in cool green patches that soothed my skin.

That's what she does. She soothes me. It doesn't make sense; she's so fiery and alive—that almost brings _red_ to mind. But here, in this moment, to me, she is green.

Of course, I don't dare tell her that. _That_ kind of comment might get me poked with the business end of a 'saber.

But when her eyes are close enough to mine that I can count each of her long lashes, I can't help but think _green_. Those brilliant eyes are reflecting my heart's desire.

Now, how will I ever scrape up enough courage to close those few inches in a kiss?

Yeah, that probably wouldn't be a 'poke' this time...


	3. Blue

The Color Series

Summary: A series of loosely related, loosely chronicled vignettes revolving around Luke and Mara, with each vignette based on a color. Presented here in VERY loose chronological order. Please let me know what you think...

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**BLUE**

I still don't know why he gave me this. I keep turning it over in my hand, trying to imagine how he felt when old Ben first put it in his hand.

His first lightsaber. His father's lightsaber.

I think he knows, somewhere in the back of that sandy head of his. But I don't, really. Is this a peace offering? A love gift? Somehow, I doubt that gifting your would-be assassin would be in good taste in most social circles.

But if Skywalker had _run_ in those circles, I may not have accepted it in my hand.

When it's not in my hand, it rests reassuringly at my side. I love its weight against my hip when I move; I lost my old 'saber years ago. It gives me...purpose.

I know what you're thinking. Purpose. I just said 'purpose.' Let me clarify. I don't mean sanctimonious-Jedi-I-know-everything-kind-of-purpose, just...a reason to carry it.

I'm not going to become a Jedi. Why? End up like Vader or Palpatine? No thanks. I'll take my chances with dabbling.

Skywalker and I already had this little chat. He wasn't too keen on the idea, but I told him it's my life. That piqued something, I could tell. And then he turned and left! Oh well. Another mystery for another day. I have to settle in; I've got bigger things to worry about than some tow-headed farmboy.

But see, that's just the thing. Every time I'm about to close my eyes, I see that hurt expression on his face. Like not joining his crazy cause was an insult to him _personally_.

Like I said earlier, I'm sure there's some reason that he does what he does—but anywhere I'm involved—well, I don't like not knowing what's going on. And if he's childish enough to think that my resisting the whole Jedi thing is some kind of slur on him, then he can just—

This is frustrating. Here I am, trying to get some sleep after a thirty-hour shift, and I can't. I've got my ship on autopilot, everything's cleaned up and put away; I should be settled in. I am lightyears away from him—and he can still get me riled up.

When I entered the atmosphere of Coruscant the other day, and watched space turn into sky blue, I couldn't help but think about the color of his eyes.

Blast it. I'm going to put a blaster to my head soon.

You know what? I don't care. I'm going to get him out of my mind. No more thoughts in his direction.

_Why_ did he give me that lightsaber?


	4. Black

The Color Series : **Black / by Lissa Strawberry**

* * *

**BLACK**

I don't know why I agreed to this.

And yet, that's something I ask myself every time.

Women. They have such an interesting effect on me. Sure, I can save the galaxy on any given day, but I'm helpless—and hopeless—on my knees in front of any of the female gender.

Mon Mothma asked me to attend this "informal" ball...and Leia followed that up with insisting on me wearing my military blacks.

I don't think I ever stood a chance.

But when Leia gives me that special "brother only" hug and kiss, I know I'm done for. And when Mon Mothma performs her mind tricks on me, I can do nothing but nod assent.

I take a last glance at myself in the looking-glass in the men's refresher. My medals are hanging straight and in their proper places; my hair looks tame, for once...I don't know why I'm so nervous. I've worked a clip for my lightsaber into the design of this standard uniform, and it looks just fine.

Maybe it's my shoes. They're so polished that I can see my face reflected back. I may have a military background, but right now I'm yearning for my Jedi blacks.

Because something doesn't feel right. The Force isn't whispering _danger_ or _betrayal_, but there's definitely _something_ causing the ripples that I feel.

I look at myself one more time. I know what's bothering me.

Two females can bend me to their will...and I can't manage to get a date. Of course, I'm not going to say anything about that sad little fact—that would cause _more_ incessant ribbing from Han.

My dress uniform is immaculate. Which is a really nice way of saying that it's not going to get any better. I take a deep breath and exit the refresher, and am almost knocked over by the crowd of dignitaries moving through. I allow myself to go with the flow and follow them into the ballroom.

I find myself following a lovely older female senator, who is dressed in a shimmering red dress. It trails behind her gracefully; she has the arm of her husband, a governor, and she is the epitome of beauty and femininity and...she smells wonderful. And then there's the governor, leaning in to hear what she's saying, taking a moment to nuzzle her ear. I bet he's smelling her too. I wouldn't mind having someone's ear to nuzzle and someone's hair to smell and—

I sigh—and catch myself. I agreed to be here, so I'm going to make the best of it.

Oh, Force. There are greeters and announcers at the door; I don't really want to be—

"Ladies and gentleman, Jedi Master Luke Skywalker, former commander of the New Republic Army."

Applause—and stares. So much for slinking in and being part of a wall. I smile, do the head-bobbing thing, and move as quickly out of the spotlight as I possibly can.

I've angled myself towards the buffet line—not too bad. I avoid the champagne, though the servers seem determined to force a glass into my hand—wait, they've succeeded. Some poor plant may have to die tonight.

"Luke!"

Two small arms wrap around my waist from behind; it's Leia. Once I turn and look into her cheerful face and sparkling brown eyes, I know I made the right decision in coming here. I would do anything to please this sister of mine. I would do anything to make her smile.

I think she hears that last thought because a knowing smirk supplants the smile.

"I'm glad you came," she says, sounding both grateful and amused.

"Only for you," I reply. She smiles again.

"You didn't bring anyone, I see," she observes.

I shrug. "As usual. Where's Han?" I add, changing the subject.

She waves a hand down the buffet line. "He was hungry. As usual," she quips.

I laugh. But then she continues, "Why didn't you bring anyone?"

Oh, not again. "You know why, sister dear," I say with a forced smile. "The Force seems to act as some kind of female-repellant. But that's okay. Need me to babysit the kids next week?"

She frowns at that attempt at humor. "That was a bad dodge, even for you," she rebukes. "There are plenty of women that will go out with you—"

"—But just how many of them do _you_ approve of?" I cut in. "I can't look cross-eyed at someone without you finding a list of reasons _why_ I should be 'working on my Force skills.'" I start laughing. _That_ was excuse she'd dared use once, with disastrous results—we'd both soaked each other with spittle from laughing too hard. "Besides, this was a last-minute thing and I didn't want to go to the trouble."

There. _That_ was a nice dodge. Let her think that the timing was to blame, instead of my ineptitude.

She rolls her eyes. Must've heard that one too. Shavit.

"Mara's here," she says softly, suddenly demure. I stare at her, restraining myself from another bout of spittle I feel bubbling up.

"And that means what, sister?" I take a swift gulp of champagne to distract her.

"You could have asked her," she replies. "She might have said yes."

My sister knows me too well—and that's rather disturbing, since we've known each other for such a short time of our lives.

I wave a hand, trying to imitate her casual manner and failing miserably. "I'm going to take a stroll," I state, a bit shortly. "Make sure Han doesn't fill your dance card—I'd like at least one with you."

It wouldn't have taken a Jedi to sense that eye roll and huge burst of amusement that radiated from Princess Leia just then.

As I move across the floor, I keep my eyes down and—I admit, use the Force to deflect attention.

The floor was just as polished as my boots—reflections of guests danced across the stone surface, reflections that glinted with the silver hints of mica in the black stone.

I watch the reflections move and listened to dresses rustle against the smooth surface. The crowd thinned as I moved towards the balcony. I passed through double glass doors and from the party into solitude. I could hear couples laughing on other balconies, but my chosen one was empty and quiet.

I stare out into the inky black sky. It has always amazed me that Coruscant could be so alight, and yet, the city lights never touched that high stretch of sky that actually changed with the setting of the sun.

I look down below, as street lines blur by. If I wasn't here, in the ballroom, and not on Yavin IV, where would I be at this moment?

The fact that I could answer that made me groan softly. I would be in my apartment, getting sleep, and dreaming of what has long been forbidden to me.

I'm not old, but I'm not getting any younger. I think that every male, of any species, wants a family at one time or another.

Every time I look into my nephew Anakin's face, I see a younger version of myself. I want my own son—to be able to look into his face and not only see myself, but that other special person I joined my life with.

The path of the Jedi is a lonely one. When I'm back at the academy, I have my own kind of family there—but whenever there's an extended amount of downtime, I can sense my students' pity for me. '_Poor Master Skywalker, locked in his room on a Saturday night with nothing to do.'_

So what? Not _everyone_ was born to be a social butterfly! Especially not someone who capitulates to every wish of a female.

I'm not bitter tonight. I'm slightly amused at myself, and resolve anew to let Leia's smile be enough for me. Someday, my little niece Jaina will be a woman and I'll try to make her smile too.

That's two lovely women in my life. That will just have to be enough.

I turn my back on the city, leaning against the coolness of the balcony. I look at the champagne glass still in my hand. Why not. I toss it back quickly, and go back to staring at the superbly-laid floor, representing the duality of the Force: dark and light. The blackness of the stone dispelled by the gleaming flecks of white. Balance.

"Wonderful train of thought at a party," a familiar voice breaks into my reverie.

I trace the voice through the reflection in the floor; my eyes trace upwards into the face of Mara Jade.

I realize that a few moments have gone by and I haven't said anything. So I shrug.

"Does my beauty leave you speechless?" she laughs at me.

That's a dangerous one. I decide to smile—it seems the safest choice.

"You look nice," she continues, coming forward and joining me at the balcony. She brushes a hand across my shoulder. "Except for the dust speck."

I look at my friend. She looks amazing, dressed in a loose black dress that displays her shoulders and elegant form.

I just nod.

"Do you really have nothing to say?" she asks with an upraised brow. "Or did I interrupt a meditation?" She laughs—and I'm suddenly annoyed.

"How are you?" I force myself to ask, in lieu of saying something angry.

She tinkles her fingernails against her champagne flute and tosses her red-gold hair. "I'm well, thank you," she drawls. "I would be much better if I could be sparring instead of brokering business."

"Well, I'm not much on the business end, so I'll excuse myself," I say. I start to move away, but then she stops me with a small hand on my arm.

"Luke?" she says quietly and unexpectedly. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I say without looking at her.

"Why don't you...would you mind...staying a moment with me?"

I turn and look at her; there is actually a smile in her wide green eyes. It's Mara—the _real_ Mara.

And I'm helpless, yet again.


	5. Cerulean

CERULEAN

He approaches her quietly, steps softened by tall, honey-blued grasses.

She stirs at feeling his presence; sitting up, she turns gentle eyes to him.

He stops, smiling shyly. The first stars of dusk cast a calm, loving glow into his clear eyes.

Her mouth begins a curve upward—but in place of her usual smirk, there is a beautiful smile, softened by her love for the bashful man standing before her.

There is a moment: a glorious meeting of azure and emerald, blue and green; two souls awash in love for one another.

And before that complete silence can be broken by any commonplace remark, he seats himself beside her, holding her close with one arm across her shoulders, taking her left hand with his real one. The couple shares another full, comfortable silence as their hands warm one another.

The dusk deepens into that dark cerulean of twilight. As the vastness of sky resolves into millions of blue and white twinkling flames, he tightens his hold on her shoulders and looks into her eyes.

The breeze is warm and ruffles her hair as she kisses him softly. The clearness of his eyes reflects the evening sky; reflecting a love so deep, so pure, that she pulls back to study the man she has pledged herself to.

His young, innocent features are open before her, bathed in the softening cerulean twilight. She reaches a tentative hand forward and with trembling fingers, traces the lines of his smile.

His eyes sparkle tenderly at her; she looks closely, again, in an attempt to comprehend the love so clearly present in his very breath.

He pulls her into his arms and they both watch the stars, understanding on a level without words, that the gods are sharing in their love with this blessing of a clear, cerulean night sky.


	6. Gray

**The Color Series: Gray **/ by Lissa Strawberry

A/N: **Gray** is set in the NJO period.

* * *

The blades threw off sparks and flame as their owners engaged in a fierce dance.

"Focus!" the master cried. "You must focus and let go—"

"Let go?" his trainee snarled. "How can you do both?"

"Search your feelings." His voice suddenly sounded tired and ragged; it lacked color and warmth. He pulled his lightsaber to salute position and closed it down.

The trainee made a frustrated noise and closed down her lightsaber as well. "Are we always going to dance, or are you going to give me a straight answer?"

The master was hooking his lightsaber to his belt; frowning, he met her eyes. "What answer would you like to hear?"

She held his gaze. There was a measured silence, punctuated only by her quickened breathing. 

Some years later, two masters sparred on the gray stone floor of a room in the famed Jedi Praxeum.

"The dance continues," the former trainee mocked her master and husband. "What is the answer you have today?"

The master withdrew his blade distractedly. His wife watched him with keen eyes.

"The dance continues—back and forth, through dark and light, black and white." He clipped his lightsaber to his belt and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. "I am no closer to the answer than I ever was...and there are more questions with each passing day..."

"Black and white..." she whispered. "Two stark contrasts. Does the answer lie somewhere between?"

"In the gray?" he asked. "I don't know...but that is dangerous thinking."

"Dangerous to whom?" she snarled, bringing her lightsaber through the air that would have cleaved him in two were it not for his fast reaction.

Sparks flew as the blue blade met green.

"We are all in this dance together," she said, something dark in her tone and in her sense. "And you—_you­_ are the one that must lead."

"I can't lead if I can't see," he replied sadly as he moved gracefully out of reach.

"What is there to see, my love?" she said softly. "We fight—or we don't."

"But it is not _always_ black and white," he shot back in clipped tones. Frustration began to color his sense; his wife felt it wash over them both. "_That_ is the problem. How do we fight without becoming monsters ourselves?"

The master's wife stared at him for a long moment, chewing on the statement as well as studying him. "But we must meet them _first_—can we agree on that?"

"So that the enemy arrives second and is exhausted," he finished, looking at her warmly. "It must be so...So we will meet them first, and be ready...and that is supposed to be enough? Enough to keep us from being in the Dark?"

"Maybe we have been brought to this for that very reason," she said, then hesitated.

He looked at her questioningly.

She continued, "If we could channel the Dark...maybe we could be rid of them sooner."

"'If once you start down the dark path,'" her husband chanted at her. She rolled her eyes, but couldn't help agreeing—partly. "_That_ falls into 'becoming monsters.' We can't wield the Dark Side and expect to escape unscathed."

"Then maybe there are some of us who can charge through—and live with the consequences." Her open green eyes suddenly had shutters; they closed themselves off from his searching gaze, but not before he caught a glimpse of a haunted past reflected back at him.

"No," he said.

She raised her eyes to his. "But—"

"_No_," he said. "If I am the 'leader'—as _you_ put it—then I say _no._ We can't hope that we can win this war through playing with Dark and Light as if we could come out—successfully. We don't know how many might be unnecessarily killed, or hurt, or—" Suddenly he was still, lightsaber hanging uselessly at his side, his eyes closed and something moving across his features.

"Listen," was all he said.

His wife let go of her demons for a moment to listen with her husband.

The Force swept through them both, whispering to its favored couple of the Light, revealing possibilities and murmuring futures.

Tears slipped down her smooth cheeks as she listened to the Force's song. She listened as it flew through cadences and movements with all the colors of the spectrum and then still others that she could never name. It told her of _balance_ within the Light; it spoke of candles, of flame, of stars, and of suns.

It whispered of harmony, of peace, and of love.

It told her to open her senses and look at the man beside her.

And as she did, the Light was so strong that she wept, though her eyes were closed. She wept for the Dark and she rejoiced in the Light.

And she wept for the in between place in which the galaxy now hung; trapped, suspended.

"We cannot live in the gray," she whispered.

Her husband wrapped his arms around her and held her close as two beacons of Light radiated through the Force, looking for _balance_ and finding...love.

For now, in this place, love is balance.


	7. Pearl

The Color Series: **Pearl** / by Lissa Strawberry

* * *

The light was gentle and mellow, almost tangible in its softness. The music, while continuing and floating on the air, seemed muted, softened itself in the presence of the delicate beauty that was within a warm breath of his face.

Thick curls of burnished, reddened gold escaped from the flowing white of his bride's veil, but it was the flower tucked behind one ear that caught his attention. Its pink, exotic petals caressed her faintly rose-pearl hued cheek, flushed with anticipation and love.

_Am I the one to make you happy?_

Where had that thought come from? But most importantly, who had thought it? The groom smiled a bit roguishly at his bride, if only to cover his nervousness; the bride's eyes gleamed with a flare of wisdom and love.

_We'll make each other happy...that's the more important answer._

Suspended in that breathless moment, the couple could feel warm remembrances from amongst the bridesmaids and groomsmen; they could sense love and tenderness from their invited guests.

At long last, she was within reach—she had said _yes_.

The bride couldn't help some small amount amusement at her intended's thoughts; she felt so radiant that she wondered how he could bear to look at her and not be blinded.

_Is that what you think? Love is blinding?_

_Love is...brilliant. Love is...terrifying. Love is standing at the edge of a cliff and not knowing what the next step will be. Love is lying in the arms of the one you love, and wondering what he is thinking. Love is lying in those same arms, being comforted. Love is being patient—_

_Ah, patience! We waited ten years, didn't we, love? Love is that, love is patient..._

_Love is soft, love is hard. Love is every color in the spectrum, and many more that are unseen, unnamed, and unimaginable. Love doesn't fail...but I can't help but think that _I_ might...I might fail you...(how could I ever be enough? How can I fill those empty places I feel within you...if I have too many of them myself?)_

There is a tug of quiet laughter on the edge of her mind. _We'll make each other happy, remember? We will fill each other, until we are overflowing...here is our cup, Mara...and I raise it to the new life that we are beginning together._

The music has suddenly rushed to the fore, as if the dampening affect has just been lifted.

_No, that's the signal of our new life, my love. And all the universe is singing!_

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

He took her in her arms, feeling the slim waist within his arms, wondering at her slenderness and telling himself that he would be very careful to safeguard this very treasure of his heart—no, his heart itself.

Her eyes stared back, her mind quiet. But she had every barrier down and her loved washed over him and her trust warmed him.

_I love you._

_I know._


	8. Violet

**The Color Series: Violet** / by Lissa Strawberry

A/N: **Violet** is set in the NJO period.

* * *

Though the industrial planet of Coruscant barely knew true night, the skylines were deepening into dusk. The artificial light of the planet warred with the starlight, but on this particular evening, the stars seemed to have won.

The coming evening was peaceful; the Skywalkers' residential district was almost quiet. Out in the city centre, the mistress of the home smiled to herself, were where all the denizens—no, _citizens_—were, relaxing and celebrating the close of the work week.

What a life: to get up _after_ sunrise, kiss the spouse goodbye for the day, go to work, laugh with friends, and come home to family; everyday, a predictable cycle.

If they hadn't been so _un_predictable, Mara Skywalker reflected, she would not be standing here now, serenely watching the dusk softening into twilight, work-hardened hands resting on her stomach, dreaming about the newest turn her markedly _different_ life had taken.

A loud, rasping snore interrupted her train of thought. She looked over her shoulder to see her husband fast asleep on the living room couch. He had fallen asleep sitting up, reading plans or treaties or blueprints or something else important; his head rested on his hand, hair tousled and cheeks pink with slumber.

Mara wanted to laugh at the sight of the great Jedi Master sleeping like a...baby.

..._Baby._

They were going to have a baby.

She was barely two months into her pregnancy, hardly showing except for the softening of her sharp features and blunting of her sharp angles.

The only predictable thing in her life, she mused, was _change_.

The face that greeted her in the mirror every morning was a little different each day. The eyes that reflected back held a great many questions, with new ones added each day.

_Who would the baby take after? Would its hair be blonde like Luke's, or red like hers? Green eyes or blue? Freckles or clear skin? A happy laugh or a propensity for crying?_

Luke's joy at the news of their child—_their_ child—was another person of its own. It was so real and _alive_—she could taste his happiness and _feel_ it wrapped around her—it was so palpable, so tangible.

And what did she feel? How did she feel?

Mara looked out through the transparisteel window and to the bustling metropolis below. The sky was now deep violet, the last remnants of the sunset gone. How did she feel about

(the baby)

this?

She found herself humming a quiet, gentle melody, using a slight nudge of the Force to direct her undisguised love to the child within her. That idle melody was all the answer she needed. She was scared, terrified, afraid—and very much in love with the being growing inside of her. She feared for the baby's life (would the baby make it to term? Would the baby be born healthy, or deformed by the spores that had debilitated her for so long?) but not so much that that fear overshadowed her undeniable joy.

How had this happened? It _shouldn't_ have happened; this was a nearly _impossible_ event.

The Force was giving them a child. The realization of the seemingly insurmountable obstacles was enough to make her head spin. She steadied her inner self and attuned to the Force.

The baby was growing, that much she could feel. She couldn't wait for the day when the baby might respond to her with a wordless caress of love like the ones she could not help sending as often as possible.

How could she be so blessed? With all that she had done, with all of the darkness in her past—how could she be granted something this incredible? No, she thought to herself, the Force is continuing its cycle, though blessing the parents as well. The cycle of life continues, through birth, death...and rebirth. Was this child her chance to "do it all over again"? Was this her second chance at life?

_No._ The thought was soft, yet soothing. The child was a new hope of its own, not a _thing_ that she would live that second chance through.

But she was being given another chance, nonetheless. And she owed it not to the Force, to Luke, or herself to squander it—she owed it to the small child who would need her guidance and love. If Mara Jade Skywalker's legacy could be summed up in the life of her child, she knew that she could ask for no better. The child was not only of the Skywalker line; that didn't matter. The child would be the offspring of two loving, devoted parents who worked tirelessly to keep the galaxy safe for all—especially their little one.

A hoverlane traffic jam caught her eye. Someday, she promised the small being within her, the galaxy _would_ be safer for children everywhere—even for the child of Luke and Mara Skywalker. Someday.


	9. Slate

**SLATE. / by Lissa Strawberry**

A/N: SLATE is set before "Legacy" and after "Legacy of the Force."

Though this vig has nary a mention of color, the color "slate" is more of a coloring within the mind, as you read. For a better explanation, read the previous A/Ns.

Thanks for clicking.

* * *

"...for my Ben."

Mara Jade Skywalker's last words woke Master Skywalker from a fitful sleep. Though they were the words he kept next to his heart, he knew as he dressed that it would be another long day.

His mother had been murdered; his father, long since gone into the Force. Master Skywalker stood completely still at the foot of the small stone set in the temple garden.

It was a simple, rough stone. He knew that a better one, of marble, of gold, perhaps, could have been fashioned into a memorial for his family—but the natural stone, for Master Ben Skywalker, spoke volumes.

**THE SKYWALKER FAMILY**

PADME AMIDALA & ANAKIN SKYWALKER

MARA JADE & LUKE SKYWALKER

LEIA (SKYWALKER) ORGANA & HAN SOLO

_Anakin & Jaina Solo, their children. _

MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU.

Luke Skywalker had rebuilt the Jedi Order in his twenties and had dedicated his life to serving it. Ben, named for a master of old, was fast approaching thirty, lacking direction and..._purpose._

Jacen Solo, his cousin, had perpetrated war upon the galaxy—but that war, costing billions of lives and nearly the galaxy itself—had been a ruse. The war had been a distraction for the Skywalker and Solo families, as Jacen tore them apart.

Jacen had tortured his parents. Ben could still see the pain and—how could it still be there?—the _love_ in his aunt Leia's brown eyes as she died by the hand of her son—Ben's father had struck the blow to end Jacen's life—but not before Jacen had landed the killing blow to Luke Skywalker. Ben left the sides of his dying uncle Han and dead cousin Jaina to be with his father one last time—and was haunted still by the clearness in his father's blue eyes. They had been cloudless, pure, peaceful; Ben had been jealous of that peace and had wanted to take it for himself—Luke Skywalker's final act of love for his son was to stay his hand. His fatal wounds denying him the power of speech, he simply shook his head. When Ben dropped his chosen weapon of suicide, his father had sought his hand. And had squeezed with all the life within him.

And then he had gone.

Ben Skywalker never lied to himself and said that he was no longer jealous of his father's peace. He _was_ still jealous—ravenously so. But as the years passed, the hunger for it was replaced with an ache around his heart that pulsed painfully along with every heartbeat.

He had once had a family. Now, he had only himself. He was afraid to get near the other masters and the students—what would happen to them if he did? He had lost everyone dear to him—because they had all loved him and had all, in their own special ways, tried to protect him from himself. His bout of Darkness had spurred Jacen on, encouraged him in his agenda of brutality.

The Light was a punishment for all of his sins. He found it hard to live everyday with the grace he had been afforded. But just as his heart kept beating—albeit painfully—he found the will to keep living. The ultimate death, he had realized as he had set his father atop a funeral pyre, would be to let his family die. They had passed through a curtain to the other side; they were waiting within the Force, ready to welcome him when it was time.

But it wasn't time yet. Master Skywalker had a family memory to keep alive. If that burned out, then Jacen would have won.

Ben Skywalker shook himself out of the past, out of the thoughts that followed him everyday. He looked around, as he always did, half-hoping to see the shimmering blue of a Force ghost—his mother, come to give him a smile; his father, come to clap him on the shoulder.

_See, Dad? I stayed my hand. I stayed here. And for what?_

But there was no one, nothing; no one had ever come to visit him from the other side. No one had spoken in his mind as his father used to laugh about Ben Kenobi always having done so.

Ben was truly alone.

"Master Skywalker?"

He turned, startled out of his thoughts.

Queen Mother Allana Solo Djo stood before him, her red hair hanging loosely around her pale face, her wide brown eyes every bit as warm and loving as Aunt Leia's had always been.

"Allana...Your Majesty." He madeas if to bow, but she stopped him with soft fingers lifting his chin.

"You are honoring them." It was not a question. He nodded. "I will honor them with you."

They stood in silence for a long time, staring at the stone, at the words carved there, at the lightsaber permanently burning, upside down, as an accompanying memorial, next to the stone. It had been his cousin Anakin's lightsaber, brought back by the Yuuzhan Vong after being thought lost for many years.

Ben wore both Luke and Mara's lightsabers; Allana, he knew, carried her mother's lightsaber. Tenel Ka had perished early on in the war. Leia had stepped in and rescued Allana; Luke had mentored and tutored her.

Allana never mentioned her father, Jacen; and Ben never asked where Leia's lightsaber had gone. He had a suspicion that the Queen Mother had it in her personal keeping, in a place of honor. He found that he did not mind, however much Aunt Leia had tried to mother him in her final years. She had never replaced Mara in his heart.

"I have thought, many times, that I should sleep here, under the earth." Allana kicked at a tuft of grass with a jeweled slipper. "What is the point in going on when we are separated from the ones that loved us—the ones _we_ truly loved?"

The master's stance softened, his eyes suddenly filled with tears.

"Hapes is dead," Allana Solo Djo said flatly. "Hapes is as dead as Alderaan. The monarchy is a mockery. I am little more than a figurehead, and a useless one at that. Of whom shall I govern, when there is nothing left?"

Ben felt a pang. Every word was true. The Hapes Consortium had been devastated by war, leaving only a tenth of its original collective population alive. Small villages had banded together, forming their own governments. Allana's power was indeed useless—as redundant as rubies in a sandstorm. She spent most of her time at the Jedi Temple, or traveling to war-ravaged planets, doing her best to make amends for the war her father had wrought.

"We can't turn," he said softly, into the silence.

She turned her face to him, eyes ablaze. "What?"

"Allana...you're angry...and so am I. You have lost your family, your kingdom—I have lost my family, and the Jedi have hardly enough masters to teach what students we have left. It's almost like I have to rebuild my father's legacy—and he gave his life rebuilding what _his_ father had destroyed. Allana...is that all we are fit for? Our family will always be destroying and rebuilding—but why should_ we_ have the say in deciding the fate of the galaxy? It's not right..."

Allana's eyes cleared, now thoughtful and...sad. "Our family legacy."

"I was thinking earlier...that I was alone, all that is left of my family. But I forgot about you—you are my family too. Allana, let's rebuild our family. Let's start over. But let's start over so _well_ that our children won't be leaving a mess for _their_ children to rebuild."

Allana smiled, a shadow of her aunt Jaina's mischief playing in her lashes.

Skywalker and Solo joined hands and walked away from their family memorial; Ben and Allana held each other's hands as their new chance at life, the lifeline they had forgotten they shared.

Allana and Ben had yet another future to rebuild—and for the first time, both felt just a little _Lighter_.

* * *


	10. Yellow

**YELLOW.**

It was a rare day off.

There was no war, no crisis, no one needing to be saved. Even the Force seemed to hum along, almost cheerfully.

Mara Skywalker was certainly humming to herself as she chewed on a lightpen. _Almost done and then I'll..._

"Hey, Mara?"

She looked up from her work. "Hmm?"

Her husband was standing in the doorway with something in his hand and an amused expression on his face.

"Is this yours?" He held out the latest copy of _Coruscant Woman_.

"Give me that!" Before the Jedi Master could react, his wife had ripped the magazine from his hand, her eyes gleaming hungrily.

"I've been _waiting_ for this one!" she said gleefully. "Oh, _look_—"

With several "oohs" and "ahhs," she lost herself within the magazine.

Luke just stood there.

As his wife prowled through the pages with assassin-like attention to detail, he looked around her office. There were a few holos of friends and family, a working display of weaponry, and a tidy desk with a stray piece of flimsi that bore the words "Eliminations", "Yell at Han—this evening", "clean hold-out blaster" and the like. As he reached for that particular piece of flimsi, he sneaked a peek at his wife.

She was still standing, head down, still rifling through the pages with an almost...feral...need.

Shaking his head, he read to himself, "Eliminations: evil remnants of the Empire. Darksiders. The Dark Side itself. Luke's snoring. C-3P0. Reporters. Anyone who says cooking is an 'art.'" He looked back at his wife.

"Honey," she purred, without taking her eyes away from the magazine, "that's not marked for _you_. Put it down and—go get dressed."

Luke stared at her. "I _am_ dressed—and why?"

She spared him the barest of glances. "Something other than black, please. Don't you ever get hot?"

"No hotter than you in a catsuit," he shot back, vastly amused.

Mara snorted. "I don't have to worry about heat," she said, clearly preoccupied.

"That you don't," he replied suggestively.

She finally looked up and smiled. "On second thought, my farmboy, I'll pick out your outfit. Now go shave or brush your hair or bang on Artoo or something."

As soon as he left the room, muttering, Mara laid the magazine on her desk, smoothing its cover reverently. Today was the day she'd long been waiting for.

It was finally peacetime—and the new summer line was out.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

"Stop fidgeting," Mara ordered. "And hold my hand."

Reluctantly, her husband stopped fingering his short-collared shirt and took his wife's hand. He spied _Coruscant Woman_ in her other hand. "Sweetheart, what in blazing Hoth is going on?"

"It's called a shopping date," she replied, with such authority Luke began to feel that he was in line for execution. "The new summer line is out and there's no war on—in case you haven't noticed. It's time to enjoy the finer things in life—yes, even for us, _Master_ Skywalker."

He looked sideways at her, but her eyes were straight ahead.

And as the moving pedwalk brought them ever closer to their destination, he couldn't help but have a bad feeling about this.

"No planes, no weapons, no nephews or niece tagging along..." It was almost a song. Mara was browsing displays as Luke hung back, still holding her hand, trying to understand what had happened to his wife.

One moment she was browsing reports and the next—squealing like a schoolgirl! What had gotten into her?

"She doesn't need clothes," he told himself. "She needs...an experience." A sign for **CORUSCANT PLANETARY TRAVEL** had just caught his eye. Leaving her side for a moment (she wasn't paying attention to him anyway), he moved closer to the sign.

**THIS MONTH'S SPECIAL: ROUND TRIP FARE TO TATTOOINE**

**Tattooine boasts the only human winner of the famous Boonta Eve Classic.**

**It is also the homeplanet of Jedi Master Luke Skywalker.**

"Oh, Force," he muttered. Travel plans suddenly not sounding so wonderful, he looked for his wife.

She was gone. He stretched out in the Force for her—she was already several shops away from him and wondering _why_ he wasn't there for her.

"Uh-oh."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

"Mara..." Luke wasn't necessarily _struggling_ with all of the shopping bags, but if he had to use the Force to nudge them up, then this was getting out of control. "Where exactly do you plan to _wear_ these?"

Mara stopped walking, the hostile sound of her black stilettos suddenly ominous by their very absence.

"That's not the _point_," she said acidly. "You don't acquire the finer things by being _practical_ about them." She then gave him a sad, pitying look and shrugged her shoulders, as if giving him up for hopeless.

"But why," he continued bravely, "why did you get so much _yellow?_"

"Because I wanted to match your hair," she said sweetly.

He almost dropped the bags. "W-what?"

She laughed. "No, silly. _Yellow_ is the color of the _summer_. Or, this summer, rather. Comm your sister—she'll tell you."

And as Mara dashed into another shop, Luke lowered his protesting body onto a bench and pulled out his comlink.

"Hey there, kid," Han Solo greeted him a moment later.

"Hey Han," Luke replied. "My sister around?"

"Yeah—just a sec. Hey honey? Luke's on the comm! What's up, kid?"

"Oh—shopping with Mara. Han, what does the color _yellow_ have to do with anything?"

The little blue figure of his brother-in-law seemed to whiten. "Oh no she didn't!"

"What?"

Han lowered his voice. "Yellow. Some designer says it's the color of the summer—well, _this_ summer, anyway. Leia dragged me all over the place looking for gowns and fabrics and whatnot..." He sighed. "And here I was thinking I'd much rather go off on some romantic getaway..."

Luke grinned. "I understand more than you know, Han. Any possible way I can...umm..._curtail_...this little expedition?"

Han's features darkened. "No, you don't want to do that, kid. Let her be, let her enjoy herself...don't try to figure this one out. I've been trying since before you were born and I don't get what it is with females and their clothes. But you can't get between 'em even with a good blaster without comin' out worse for the wear. No, kid," he drawled sadly, "females are a strange folk, and it's best to let the ladies do their thing."

Seeing Mara approaching—bagless—Luke cut the call.

"Didn't find anything?" he said kindly.

"Of course I found _something_," she replied and Luke got a sinking feeling. "You know that I love you more than life, right?"

"Yes..." Luke didn't like where this was going.

"How about you let me underwrite the deed on the academy...I've just got to buy this whole _store._"

"Whole. Store?" Luke stammered.

And then she laughed, and he knew his Mara was back. "I'm teasing, Farmboy. I'm feeling...content." And she did, Luke felt through the Force; she felt mellow and warm. "Dinner?"

"Okay...Bantha Burgers?"

She made a face. "No, dear. I have all of these nice things now...why don't we go back to the apartment so I can change?"

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

After several hours, two arguments, and the female demolishment of their bedroom, Luke was finally escorting his beautiful wife to dinner. She looked absolutely fantastic in this _yellow_ trend and it was worth this whole day to see her looking so happy and radiant.

Just the same though, Luke Skywalker would be paying an evening visit to the editor of _Coruscant Woman_. And he would make sure he was wearing black.


	11. White

A/N: Thanks to all my loyal readers. I haven't given up on this series, don't you worry. :)

* * *

**White**. / by Lissa Strawberry

* * *

All is quiet. All is...white.

Luke opens his eyes and wonders how long he's been sleeping. He notices the warmth that envelops his bare skin; he hears the peacefulness of the quiet that surrounds like a soft blanket.

And everything is white.

He sits up—was he lying down? He can't remember—and arranges young, limber legs into lotus position. Physically, he feels as if he can do anything. Emotionally, he is serene. Spiritually, he is joyful—joy as in a deep, abiding peace within his soul.

He feels complete...and then something soft pulls at his heart, as if tugging on his nonexistent sleeve.

The Force guides his gaze upward, bidding him to look deeper into the blank whiteness.

A flash of red dispels the white vision.

A searing glance of emerald pierces _his_ vision.

He can barely breathe—was he ever breathing at all?

"You don't have to sit there naked, Farmboy," this new apparition laughs.

He shakes his head, dismissing the comment, but not the laugh—no, never the laugh.

And her laugh brings new life to his heart; his breathing begins anew and his inner joy is tempered—and completed—with fresh, true happiness.

He holds out his bare arms. "Mara."

And as her fingers light upon his, he can't help but wonder at the adage _there are no tears in Heaven_.

The red and emerald and white are blurred by the sudden tears in his eyes. He senses her smile, and feels her love surrounding him. No, not just love—it's her _Light_—and _the_ Light—embracing them both and calling them home.

He holds her for a moment—or has it been an eternity?—and she takes his right hand in hers—it is whole and real again—and says quietly, "It's time."

He wants to look over his shoulder; there is a young one left behind, in the other place—but he has moved on; he is crossing over.

She hears his thoughts. "He will be safe, Luke. We will both be watching over him."

She moves on ahead of him, her long red-gold hair shining in the whiteness, trailing down the soft white of her long robe. Something shifts in the white space and somehow, the whiteness brightens and opens—and it is beckoning forward.

If he were to look back now, would it be an act of doubt?

"It's time," she says again. She's smiling; she understands. She understands more than he'll ever know, he suspects.

And so, without looking back, he walks towards the brightness. The red comforts and soothes him; but it is the white that calls him home.


	12. Brown

_A/N: _Thanks to all of my loyal readers. More is coming, I promise. :)

**Brown** is set during the early Academy days on Yavin 4.

**Brown** / by Lissa Strawberry

* * *

"Luke, what in the name of the Sith are you doing?"

Luke Skywalker, head of the Jedi Order, hero of the galaxy, was currently elbow-deep in soil. He lifted his head at the shrill voice, his ancient floppy farmer's hat drooping over one eye. "Yes, Mara my sweet?" After handling his upstart student's query in such a dangerously flippant fashion, he promptly returned to work.

Mara Jade, the upstart student with a question, was uncomfortably clad in a ragged Jedi training cloak and shifted her weight uneasily as she contemplated the master...digging. Digging, really. Gardening, actually.

What had gotten into him?

"Is this a new pastime you've taken up?" she said impatiently, her heels sinking into the earth with each weight shift.

The master's shoulders shrugged and the man kept digging. Mara watched him in silence and then looked up across the training yard: no one else seemed to notice that the master had taken leave of his senses. Kyp was showing off, as usual, Corran and Kam had some kind of staring contest going on, and Tionne was strumming away on some Outer Rim contraption she called an instrument. She realized that someone was humming---very low and very off-key. "Skywalker, is that you?"

"...and three eggs to milk...laaaaa....hmmm?" Luke sat back on his heels and pushed his hat to the back of his head, wiping sweat off the bridge of his nose. "What was that?"

Mara giggled and then abruptly stopped when Luke grinned at the sound. "What? You've got _dirt_ on your nose. Stupid farm boy." She turned away to hide a grin of her own and started to move away when her cloak came unfastened and slipped off her shoulders. She kept walking on anyway.

"Wait, Mara!" The erstwhile Jedi gardener trotted over to her with her cloak and stopped her to fasten it back around her shoulders. "There." Luke smiled his sunny farm boy smile—the one she liked the best, but would die before admitting it—and his blue eyes stared calmly—steadfastly—into her face. His smile morphed into another grin and then into a chuckle.

"What?" Mara demanded, pulling away ever so slightly.

Luke's smile had become supremely condescending. "You've got _dirt_ on your nose, did you know?" He reached up a dirty hand to wipe her cheek and cupped it, softly. And just as softly, he kissed her cheek and whispered, "Just there."

Before Mara had registered what had happened, the master was back at it, digging and singing his stupid farm boy song, while his gentle kiss burned on her cheek.

To the day of her death, Mara Jade never knew what possessed her, in that vulnerable moment, to turn _back_, in full view of the training yard, to walk _back_ to Master Skywalker and say, "Would you like some help?"

Luke put his floppy hat back on and smiled. "Most definitely." He handed her a shovel and the two of them dug together. She even found that she recognized that silly song he was humming: "The Corellian on Tatooine":

_And then he brought three eggs to milk_

_Laaaaa de dahhhhhhh de dahhhhhh_

_And Jabba said, 'You can't milk eggs'_

_And fried him on the spot!_

They worked in peaceful silence for a while, their bare fingers occasionally brushing one another's, their eyes briefly meeting, and their smiles quick but genuine. Mara found that she really enjoyed this quiet, peaceful moment with Luke and wondered if he felt the same. He _must..._

Luke's fingers brushed hers again, and lingered—almost as if he could hear her thoughts. He stopped digging and met her eyes. He tickled her fingers with his, drawing a smile to her face. He leaned in a little closer—and she couldn't help but match him, just a little closer—

Corran, having won whatever ridiculous game he was playing with Kam, strolled over and watched the pair's progress.

"Not much digging going on, I see," he observed. "But looks like the planting's coming along just fine!"

The Force suddenly burned—with Luke's or her own embarrassment, Mara did not know. But suddenly Corran was on the run—with a crazy lady and her gardening tool in hot pursuit.

"Why is he running away?" Luke murmured, the flush in his cheeks still bright.

Mara shrugged casually, though her face was still as red as her hair. "Oh, I don't know....maybe someone gave him a taste of his own medicine, and chased him with a little telekinetic projection..."

"Oh, you didn't!" Luke burst into laughter and rolled over the freshly-turned earth, howling. Mara had barely a moment to watch bemusedly when Luke suddenly seized her in a fierce hug and rolled in the soil with her, still laughing. They ended up with Luke on his back and Mara with her hidden hold-out blaster out and aimed at his forehead.

He was still laughing. "Mara, they've all gone inside. It's lunchtime."

"Don't you _ever_ roll me around like that _again_, Skywalker, do you hear?" She fingered the trigger menacingly.

Luke laughed again and reached out to pull something out of her hair. "Did you know you have leaves in your hair?" he said as he twined her hair around the fingers of his flesh hand. And then he kissed her. And not on the cheek this time.

Mara was so startled she dropped her blaster—right into the hole they'd been digging. She made a screeching sound of protest but Luke silenced her with another hard, passionate kiss.

And then stood her up and let her go in one smooth motion.

"You dropped this," he said as he handed her the tiny hold-out blaster.

Which she immediately took and then shot him with a stun blast.

She cushioned his fall with the Force and just before laying his floppy hat on his face, she murmured, "You've got something on your face, too, farm boy," and kissed him.

_A/N: I adore feedback. :)_


	13. Periwinkle

_A/N: I don't know where this came from, but it's meant to be how bland, idle moments take on a life of their own in a relationship...and I worked in a quote from Dickens' __David Copperfield__ and I might revisit it. Hope you like..._

**Periwinkle / by Lissa Strawberry**

Mara tapped an idle finger against her datapad. She had already erased it completely in her abstraction—but was too wrapped up in her thoughts to bother to get angry at herself.

_Tap, tap._

Luke's back was to her; he was staring out the window, meditating as always. He knew she was here, but he had not stirred.

She was surprisingly _not_ annoyed. She simply sat and waited. She would wait him out.

But every now and then, she would catch a snatch of his inner thoughts and for some reason, his meditative state was making her thoughtful, turning over her own thoughts over and over, almost like turning an hourglass over and over—an exercise in keeping blankly busy.

_Tap, tap, tap._

Suddenly, the datapad flew from under her finger and sailed on top of Luke's desk, landing gently on a sheaf of flimsi.

"Mara?" He still did not move.

"Yes?" She leaned on her hand, drumming her restless fingers against her mouth.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Everything."

"But you didn't come to talk."

"No."

"Then why did you come?"

She didn't answer—couldn't answer. There weren't any thoughts in her hazy head. She shrugged loosely to his back, knowing he would sense it, if not see it.

He reached out his left hand and patted the floor beside him.

If it had been anyone else that had made that kind of gesture to her, she would have had his guts in a heartbeat. But because it was Luke, she simply crossed the room and sat next to him.

His eyes were open; he was staring out the window. Not meditating.

"No. Just thinking."

"About?"

"Nothing. Everything."

A lopsided smile took a hold of her mouth; he turned his head to her and grinned.

"Lazy day?" she asked.

"Yes. No."

"Is something about to happen?"

"Yes. No."

"The Force?"

"No...yes. Nothing serious. Maybe burnt dinner..."

And right on cue, the fire alarm sounded and Luke casually waved his hand and it turned off. "Smell smoke? That was your dinner."

"You cooked for me?" For some reason, she was genuinely flattered.

"Tried. And got distracted." He was up, crossing to the kitchen, chucking the food—pot and all—into the disposal unit.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing. Everything."

And finally, he sighed, and slumped against the wall. "That old unhappy loss...or want...of something..."

She softened and went to him, touching his face gently. "Thinking of your father?"

He raised his eyes to her, all blue confusion. "No...it's not a family thing...I just feel like something's missing."

She looked at him, thrown.

"I'm sorry...you want dinner, don't you?" Luke abruptly straightened and moved to his comm center, intending to call for take out.

But her hand on his shoulder restrained him. "I think you should say what you're thinking."

He sighed. "I don't know what I'm thinking. Only that something's missing...and I don't know what that is."

He turned to the comm center, but her next words stopped him cold: "You want to get married?"

"What?" His eyes flashed to hers and she was startled to see anger—was that _despair?_—in their suddenly clouded depths.

"Would that complete you?" She touched his hand and he saw a pearly flash—Mara in white, rose petals—_I love you, world without end—_

"That's not what you want." He wrenched himself free of her sense—physically and mentally.

"Right now, we're not discussing what _I_ want. I'd like to know what's missing in your life, Luke Skywalker. You have a sister who loves you, adorable nephews and a niece, and a loving public. What else could you want?"

He looked at her briefly, and then simply looked away. "It would be easy to say that I want _you_, Mara—that I want to marry you and raise a family—but that's not what we're talking about."

"Easy, huh?"

"I'm not afraid to tell you that I love you. That I have for years. That I would take any opportunity to be with you. But you want to be friends—and that's where we're at."

"You want to get married?"

"Stop asking me that!" Luke was getting angry. "You know the answer—don't ask me again."

"Do you want to be with me?"

Luke was fed up. Mara's datapad flew from his desk and into her hand; simultaneously, the door to his apartment flew open. "Please leave, Mara." He turned away from her.

"No." She stood still, gripping the datapad, her stance defiant. "Make me."

"I will. One more chance, Mara."

She opened her mouth—and found herself sailing backwards, gently and gracefully. She threw all of her resistance against it and found that she stopped just short of the door. "How _dare_ you use the Force on me!"

"I just did what you said. If you're through asking stupid questions, you should leave." His words had uncharacteristic bite and for once, Mara realized that she had pushed him too far.

"It's not about me, is it, Luke?" She crossed back to him and used the Force to make him face her.

"When is it not?" He smiled half-heartedly, not resisting her pull.

"I don't think that's what this is about."

"No...and yes. I just wonder...how is it that when we're young, everything seems so simple? Rescue a princess, save the galaxy—live happily ever after. But no one ever talks about what happens after saving the galaxy—how it tears you apart at night to think of every death—the blood, the tears—every woman I've widowed, every youngling I've orphaned—every life ruined because of—me. My best trick, right? A simple choice killing millions—only because it's me. And so if something's missing in _my_ life—it's only right. I deserve it—to never be complete, to never be whole. I'm lucky to be somewhat intact—who am I to mourn for the might-have-beens when I have sowed destruction my whole life? So when you ask me, 'So, you want to get married?'—you act like it's an easy solution, but you're not even truly offering—just some kind of academic study for you—to push my buttons and watch what happens."

As he had spoken, Mara had seen the faces of those he had killed—victims of war, victims of fate—all of the people who had gotten in the way. All of the millions of innocent people.

She suddenly regretted her flippancy and for once using her heart and not her mouth, she wrapped him in all of the soothing Force tendrils she could muster—and then held him in her arms.

"Remember this, Jedi..." she whispered softly in his ear, not knowing where the words came from, "we can never go back...and would you want to? Would you erase the price paid for peace?"

And because he could not answer that question, not without breaking his heart completely, he cried silently into her hair, his loss and despair making a turbulent storm in the Force that would ensure that any Force-sensitive nearby would have a sleepless night.

"Damn you, Mara," he whispered brokenly. "You never let anyone hide, do you?"

She felt a wave of sadness. "No. Assassins are trained to bring people _out_ of hiding."

He slumped a little at that—why, she did not know. "Mara—would _you_ change it? Give back those lives you took?"

"Of course I would. Not a day goes by I don't regret what I've done. But you—you're different. People die for peace—you brought peace to the galaxy. I fought against you, killing in the name of a ruthless Empire. Really, who is more of a murderer here? I think, if we were weighed on a scale, I would be the one found wanting."

And he could say nothing to that. There was nothing _to_ say.

"Maybe we _are_ perfect for each other," he murmured into her red tresses. "Two broken people—two broken halves to make a whole..."

"You think so?" Mara chuckled softly, her heart warming a little—because she finally realized why she had come, why she was here.

Apparently, Luke had picked up on the change in her sense. "What is it?"

"Luke—it's time we stopped playing games. Let's be honest with each other."

He pulled away from her arms, looking down into her shining green eyes. "I have always been honest with you."

"I know. And now I am going to be honest with you. Luke Skywalker, I see your brokenness—and I love you anyway. Because I see your Light—I see _you_. I love you always, world without end...and now you know. No matter what I say outside of this moment, I will _always_ love you. Always have. Always will."

"This wasn't how I envisioned us having this conversation," Luke said ruefully, rubbing his nose.

"We've had this conversation before, multiple times. Just not in these words."

"No...not in these words," Luke echoed. "You know, this day started out bland and blank—this wasn't how I thought it would end."

"And how is it ending, Jedi?" she smiled up at him.

And because happiness is always bought at the price of tears, he smiled back through his own and kissed her.


End file.
